


Forget Our Heritage

by dwell_the_brave



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Academia, Dark Arts Specialist Harry Potter, Exams, F/M, H/D Fan Fair 2019, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter Has PTSD, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter Friendship, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Letters, M/M, Oxford, Post-Hogwarts, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Researcher Draco Malfoy, Researcher Harry Potter, Romance, Secondary Theme: Pottermore Fair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2020-12-21 00:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21065900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dwell_the_brave/pseuds/dwell_the_brave
Summary: When Harry Potter returns to England to take the All Souls Fellowship Examinations, the last person he expects to see in Oxford is Draco Malfoy. After all these years, has Malfoy truly changed?





	Forget Our Heritage

**Author's Note:**

> For Prompt #[101](https://docs.google.com/document/d/16er_sVwwFtbVQxtiFqHRWhw09kwNYhywsB-R48qtVPU/edit#).
> 
> When I first saw the prompt, I knew exactly the story I wanted to write, and I hope I’ve done it justice. I’ve never read so many past exam papers in my life, and they aren’t kidding around with this All Souls Fellowship! Thank you to the Mods for their patience, and to the prompter for sparking my imagination.

The September air was growing chilly as the sun sank beneath the spires in the distance. The cobblestones were slick with the recent rainfall and Harry had to watch his step to make sure he didn’t slip and end up in the pathway of one of the student cyclists, who seemed to take corners at death-defying speeds.

He had Apparated into a secluded spot in the Bodleian library and had managed to be ‘shushed’ by one of the librarians on his way out, and now he was speed-walking (definitely not running) past the Radcliffe Camera and heading for St. Mary’s Passage. Thankfully, his destination wasn’t too far away, but there were grey clouds on the horizon, threatening more rain for this evening’s festivities.

Through St. Mary’s Passage and out onto the High Street. Harry lifted in a hand in thanks to a slowing motorist that allowed him to jog across the otherwise quiet (for once) road, and through Alfred Street, the squat white stucco building coming into view up ahead. Harry reached the low grey doors just as he felt a droplet land atop his head, and he ducked inside quickly.

The pub was bustling but not busy, and Harry gave a small smile to the bartender, before scanning the room. He spotted her, in the corner of the pub, her nose in a book, as always, and hurried over.

“Hello,” he said by way of greeting once he got within earshot and she looked up, grinning when she saw him, slamming her book closed and putting it on the table to come to her feet and pull him into a hug. Out of habit, Harry turned his head to avoid a mouthful of hair, and then closed his eyes and leaned into the hug, enjoying the moment with one of his best friends.

“Oh, Harry! Let’s have a look at you, come on,” she said, letting him go and pushing him to stand an arm's length away, studying him. “You look very tanned,” she said and Harry shrugged a shoulder, letting his backpack drop into the spare chair next to him.

“Well, it’s just getting into Spring over there,” he said and she nodded.

“I hope you’re wearing enough sunscreen. You know what they say about the O-zone layer in Australia,” she cautioned and Harry bobbed his head, remembering the lectures he received when he announced he was going to be leaving England for distant shores. Hermione took her seat again and packed away her book, tucking it into the satchel bag on the floor beside her.

“I do, don’t worry,” he said, pulling out the only chair left and sitting down. “When did you get here?” he asked and Hermione waved a hand dismissively.

“Oh, about an hour or two ago. I wanted to make sure I knew where we were going, and read a little to take my mind off things,” she said and Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Hermione, you studied at Magdalen College. That’s just down the road, isn’t it?” he asked and she tutted.

“You never know what roads are closed off or where, in Oxford. Just the other week, that Muggle detective and his lanky blond sidekick were monologuing over another corpse found near St Edmund Hall. The side roads were closed for three days,” she said ruefully and Harry smiled. In her letters, she had often complained about DI Lewis and DS Hathaway, who typically turned up in odd places and questioned assorted students about the various and unfortunate deaths of the denizens of Oxford. Thus far, Hermione had managed to avoid being caught up in their enquiries, but Harry thought that had more to do with her knack for Notice-Me-Not charms.

“So, when do we have to be there?” Harry asked, checking his watch. Hermione pulled out a large wad of paper from her satchel and opened it up to the top page, scanning it quickly.

“The introduction is at six, with a drinks reception to follow. You’ll need to change, by the way,” she said, eyeing his jeans and jumper. Harry pointed at his backpack reassuringly and she nodded. “Have you thought about what answers you’ll give on your papers?” she asked, and Harry raised an eyebrow at her.

“We don’t know what the questions will be. Besides, it’s a history paper - there’ll be one I can answer, I’m sure,” he said, and Hermione gave him a nervous smile. “Hermione, you know the Law better than most practising solicitors, I would imagine. You’ll be alright,” he said, reaching out a hand to pat hers comfortingly. “Shall I get us some drinks?” he asked and Hermione nodded, letting out a shaky breath.

“Please. Small white wine, if you don’t mind. A pinot grigio if they have one?” she asked, and Harry nodded, standing. As he turned towards the bar, she was already reaching for her book again.

There wasn’t a queue at the bar and the bartender was quick to serve him Hermione’s requested wine and his pint of pale ale, and Harry felt a pang of nostalgia. Nothing could replace an English pub, though the Australians had definitely tried - it wasn’t quite the same, though.

After paying, Harry nodded his thanks to the bartender and shoved his wallet in his pocket, and picked up the glasses, winding his way back to the corner where Hermione sat. She looked up as he approached and closed her book again, taking the offered glass from his hand.

“Lovely, thank you,” she said as Harry sat down.

“Well, cheers!” he said, lifting his pint glass. Hermione smiled and tapped her glass to his. “Well done to us for getting invited to take the fellowship exams,” he continued, bringing the glass to his lips and taking a drink.

“Yes, well done. I wouldn’t have thought you had it in you, the way you went on about the NEWT exams,” Hermione said, though she smiled to take away some of the sting. Harry grinned, and set his glass down.

“I suppose I’ve had a change of heart. But, catch me up! How’s Ron?” he asked and Hermione set her own glass down with a smile. She lifted her left hand and wiggled the fingers - a diamond caught the weak light filtering through the window next to their table and shone. Harry grinned. “Congratulations! He finally worked up the nerve, then?” he said and Hermione nodded with a smile.

“He had the ring for ages beforehand. You know Ron, can’t hide a present to save his life, I found it in his sock drawer a week later, but I decided to keep it quiet. Took him another six months before he asked,” she said and Harry laughed.

“Do you have a date yet?” he asked and Hermione shook her head.

“I don't want to get married until I finish my MaD, at least. Especially if I get the Fellowship! Ron respects that, and he figures it means we can save up a bit more for a family when we're ready,” she explained and Harry nodded.

“I really am pleased for you, Hermione. I guess things have changed since I was last home,” he said and she reached over and took his hand, prying it off his pint glass to squeeze it.

“Not really,” she said quietly and he smiled back. “So, tell me about Australia?" she asked and they began to catch up. After four years apart, they had a lot to talk about.

**{#} **

The hall at All Souls was oak-panelled to a height before stretching to a high ceiling, portraits hanging between the two levels and even a few on the oak as well. Harry studied the portraits and the subjects, for the most part, kept very still (though Christopher Codrington kept blinking), though occasionally the sound of a clearing throat or a muffled sneeze came from a corner that was empty save for an oil painting. He and Hermione were seated towards the front of the hall, both changed into suits, though Hermione wore a skirt and Harry wore trousers that were possibly a touch too tight. One of the examination fellows, a skinny balding man with very white teeth that shone brighter against his dark skin, was explaining the next few days to the amassed group, made up of both Magical and Muggle applicants.

“Finally,” he wheezed, and there seemed to be a collective breath as they all realised they were coming to the end of the talk. “Short-listed candidates will be invited back to the college where we will announce who has been granted the fellowship. Thank you all for your attention this evening. I invite you all to mingle at the back of the hall. I believe there is wine available,” he said, glancing over at another examination fellow, who bobbed her head of tightly coiled red hair. There was a scattering of polite applause, and then everyone stood and headed to the back of the hall, where a table with a white cloth over it was laden with wine glasses.

As they had been sitting towards the front, it took a bit longer for Harry and Hermione to make their way to the front, and by the time they got there, the amount of glasses had lessened dramatically. Harry picked up a glass of red for himself and passed Hermione one of the few remaining glasses of white, who gave him a grateful smile. And then they mingled - or, at least, tried to.

Harry found himself briefly chatting with a History Fellow about their research, but their similarities ended when the man announced he was undertaking research regarding the rise of Pureblood supremacy and the values behind it, and Harry politely excused himself to find Hermione. He found her standing with a Law Fellow, both of them deeply entrenched in a conversation about Magical Law extending to Magical Beings, and Harry gave up trying to follow the conversation after about 5 minutes. He told Hermione he was going to see if there was any wine left, and she waved him away without saying anything.

There were a few glasses set on the table, and Harry set down his empty glass to pick up a fresh red one. He was about to turn and walk away when he spotted someone in the crowd and stilled.

A flash of white blond hair. Pale, pointed features. Grey eyes. Draco Malfoy was stood with some other Fellowship candidates, politely listening but not engaging in their conversation. Harry felt like someone had just whacked him over the head with a broom handle.

What was Malfoy doing here, of all places?

He made his way back to Hermione and took her elbow, somewhat rudely interrupting her conversation with the Law Fellow.

“Malfoy's here,” he said, surprised by the breathlessness in his own voice, and Hermione frowned at him

“I’m sorry?” she asked and Harry gripped her elbow a bit tighter.

“Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, he's here. I just saw him talking with some of the other candidates,” he said and Hermione studied his face before shrugging out of his grip.

“Well, we should go say hello,” Hermione said and walked off, Harry left gaping behind her for a second before following her through the crowd. Malfoy was exactly where he had seen him earlier, though a bit further away from the candidates than he had been before. Hermione didn’t slow her pace and continued to walk right up to him, Harry trailing behind her, his full wine glass sloshing in his hand.

“Malfoy?” Hermione said politely as she approached and Malfoy looked up with a start, frowning. His gaze flicked between Hermione and Harry and his shoulders tensed.

“Granger, Potter,” he replied in greeting, his hands remaining firmly at his sides. “A pleasure to see you both,” he said and Harry resisted the urge to scoff. It certainly wasn’t, at least not from his point of view. He had last seen Draco Malfoy and his mother in the courtroom of the Wizengamot, just after giving evidence that Narcissa Malfoy had saved his life by lying to Voldemort. Malfoy had been pale, his skin nearly translucent in the candlelight of the courtroom, and Harry had found himself studying the way that his schoolyard rival had looked older than his years, and exhausted down to his very soul. Harry had a fair amount of pity for him, truth be told, but very little sympathy.

But now - he was different. He no longer looked pale and pointed, like he had in his youth. He stood tall, his shoulders drawn back, his posture confident. The dark grey of his suit made his eyes seem brighter somehow, more blue than grey. His hair wasn’t slicked back like it had been at school, but was slightly tousled, like Malfoy had run a hand through the fine strands with little care for how they fell.

“Likewise, Malfoy,” Hermione replied to his greeting, elbowing Harry sharply in the ribs, shaking him out of his reverie. He hissed and glared at her, but her gaze remained impassive and trained on Malfoy. “How have you been?” she asked, stepping closer. She was trying to engage Malfoy in conversation, and Harry was stunned to see that Malfoy was actually going for it, if the fact that he had leaned forward was anything to go by.

"Well, thank you. And yourself? From what I heard, you were studying just around the corner from here?” Malfoy asked, and Hermione nodded, looking pleased that Malfoy knew.

“Yes, at Magdalen College. What about you? I heard you went off to the Continent for your degree?” she asked, and Malfoy bobbed his head once - his white blond hair caught the light and for a second turned into a halo around his head.

“I went to a French University, actually, one near Carcassonne,” He said, his accent lilting over the city name, but he didn’t offer further information. He turned his cool gaze to Harry and raised an eyebrow inquiringly. “And you, Potter?” he asked and Harry felt like someone had given him a small electric jolt. Malfoy said _ Potter _ without the venom that had coloured it throughout their school years, but it was still a shock to hear it.

“I went to Australia. Birrarung Marr University,” Harry replied simply, and Malfoy raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“A fair bit away,” he commented and Harry found himself nodding in agreement. He opened his mouth to explain why he had chosen Australia, of all places, but he was interrupted by a Fellow approaching them, his formal robes swirling around his ankles. He was a short, squat man, who had the appearance of someone who saw very little daylight for long periods of time, though there was a warm and kind smile on his face as he greeted them.

“William Longshaw, Fellow in Philosophy. Who might you be?” he asked them, squinting through the thick lenses of his glasses at them. They went around and introduced themselves and he shook their hands one-by-one. “What were you discussing?” he asked curiously and Hermione spoke for them.

“Actually we were just catching up, Fellow Longshaw. We attended the same secondary school together,” she explained, giving Harry a quick glance. Longshaw’s robe wasn’t piped with purple which marked the Magical Fellows from their Muggle counterparts, so they had to be careful what they said.

“Did you now? Marvelous! What school, dare I ask?” he said and Malfoy piped up next.

“A rather remote one in Scotland,” he said and Longshaw’s eyebrows raised.

“I say. Well, we’ve another applicant here who attended Gordonstoun, maybe…?”

“No, not that school Sir. It was very exclusive, invitation only to apply, that sort of thing,” Hermione explained quickly before he summoned the Gordonstoun applicant, and Longshaw blinked but otherwise looked mollified by the explanation.

“Well, I hope to see great things from you three tomorrow. Good night,” he said and then he left just as swiftly as he came. Hermione glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed.

"We should probably head off as well. Good night Malfoy, and best of luck tomorrow,” she said, reaching out to shake his hand. Malfoy looked at her and hesitated, but then took her hand and shook it. Harry didn’t offer his hand next and Hermione gave him a cross look.

“You too, Granger, Potter,” Malfoy said, before walking away, losing himself in the crowd. Harry watched him go until he couldn’t see that white blond hair anymore.

“Let’s go, Ron will be waiting up for us,” Hermione said, taking Harry by the arm and leading him away from the Hall. They collected their things from the makeshift cloak room which had been set up, pulled on their coats and then stepped out into the brisk night air, the stars clear in the sky above them. Hermione stood for a moment studying them but then shook her head.

“What?” Harry asked and Hermione gave him a rueful smile.

“I can’t read our future in the stars, I’m afraid,” she said and Harry grinned. They turned into a dark corner and Hermione took Harry’s hands in her own. They both turned on their heels and with a _ pop_, Disapparated.

**{#}**

Hermione was right, Ron was waiting up for them when they walked through the front door of Grimmauld Place. Harry was stunned momentarily by the transformation while Hermione swept off into the kitchen at the end of the corridor. Gone was the mottled wallpaper and shrieking portrait of Mrs Black, replaced by clean white walls and an artfully placed botanical print. A neat shoe rack was to one side of the doorway, and Harry toed off his shoes and placed them in an empty space, padding along the dark hardwood floors until he came to what was previously the drawing room and was now a very comfortable looking living room, complete with muggle TV in the corner. Ron looked up and around from the football match he was currently watching and his face split into a grin upon seeing Harry.

“Harry!” he said, standing up and walking over to pull him into a hug. Much like he had with Hermione, Harry leaned into the hug. Ron wasn’t as good as Hermione when it came to writing to him, usually scribbling a few sentences at the ends of Hermione’s letters, but Harry read those few sentences repeatedly whenever he had received a letter from England. He could always hear Ron’s voice in the words, and while it made him homesick initially, it brought him relief as well. Ron stepped back from the hug and smiled at him. “How are you? Can we get you anything? Beer, wine, tea?” he asked and Hermione shouted from the kitchen.

“I’m on it!”

Ron grinned and gestured for Harry to sit down. “How was your Portkey over? And the talk, how’d that go?” he asked and Harry settled back into the sofa to talk about his day. Ron was changed from the last time Harry had seen him in person four years ago, but for the better. Still tall and lanky with red hair and freckles, his eyes seemed bright and lively. Hermione had told him that Ron had completed his Auror training and then promptly quit to join George in running Weasley Wizard Wheezes and Harry agreed that this profession suited him better. There was colour in his cheeks now, and he no longer looked as haunted as he had at the age of 18, with the Fred’s death still fresh on all of their minds.

“The Portkey was alright,” Harry said with a shrug. “Had a layover in Dubai, it doesn’t leave a lot of time for the jet-lag to settle,” he added, finally acknowledging how tired he really was. He had a look at his watch - it was nearly 5am in Melbourne, and Harry’s head swam. Hermione entered the living room with a few bottles of pale ale in her hands, one of which she passed to Harry before settling down on the chair of the sofa behind Ron, giving one of the other bottles to him.

“If you’re tired Harry, I can show you where the guest room is,” she offered and Harry gave her a smile.

“I’ll be fine for a little while longer,” he said and she gave him an assessing look but didn’t argue. Harry turned back to Ron. “And the talk wasn’t anything we didn’t already know. Two papers on two subjects and then if we get short-listed, we have a _ viva _ to attend,” he explained and Ron wrinkled his nose.

“I don’t know how you do it, mate. The idea of writing more essays after those years at Hogwarts is enough to make my stomach turn,” he said and Hermione huffed, though it sounded more like a laugh. “It still surprises me that you decided to go to University,” Ron admitted, running his thumb nail over the edge of the label on the bottle in his hands. “Thought that was Hermione’s area of expertise,” he added teasingly, and Hermione gave a playful tug on his hair. Ron turned to look at her and gave him an enamoured sort of smile, which she returned. Harry felt a pang of loneliness.

“Oh, I forgot to say ‘_congratulations _’!” he said, remembering Hermione's earlier announcement. Ron flushed pink, even to the very tips of his ears, and Hermione smiled.

“You’ll be best man, right?” Ron asked, sounding worried but Harry could only grin in return.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Ron,” he replied and Ron gave him a relieved smile.

“And how about you, Harry? Weren’t you seeing someone in Melbourne?” Hermione asked, taking a swig from the bottle held loosely in her hand. Harry felt his smile slip a little.

“I was - Cameron,” he said and they both looked at him expectantly. He waved a hand in what he hoped was a dismissive fashion, though he didn’t necessarily feel it. “We ended it before I came over. He wasn’t interested in doing a long-distance relationship if I got the Fellowship, and neither was I,” Harry admitted and Hermione bobbed her head in agreement.

“It seems like a reasonable boundary. You would be on opposite sides of the world, that would be hard for anyone,” she said and Harry took a gulp of ale. It wasn’t something he wanted to discuss, really, though he could understand his friend’s curiosity.

The truth was, Cameron had been very against Harry returning to England in the first place, even if it was just for the examinations.

“You always said you_ hated _ it,” he had complained while Harry had packed for his trip. Harry paused while folding a t-shirt and gave Cameron a quick look. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with golden sun-kissed skin and hair, his eyes a dark brown. He was handsome and light-hearted and so distinctly un-English that Harry couldn’t have chosen someone less likely to remind him of home. But somewhere, deep in his heart, Harry had always known it would have never lasted. Theirs was not a romance for the ages.

“To be an All Souls Fellow is very prestigious,” Harry had explained. “It’s not an opportunity I can miss, not really,” and he had gone back to folding the t-shirt and ignored Cameron until he had left the room in a huff.

Ron brought him back to the present by giving a sharp yell in responses to a referee call in the match he had been watching. “He was offside!” Ron howled, and Hermione rolled her eyes, albeit fondly. Harry took another long drink from his bottle of ale and settled in to the familiarity of being with his two best friends once more.

**{#}**

Hermione woke him at the crack of dawn - quite literally. Harry squinted at the window in his room as Hermione bustled out and he could just see the pink fingers of dawn creeping up behind the London skyline. He showered in the ensuite and dressed in a navy suit and tie, ran a comb through his hair without hoping for any miracles, and then made his way downstairs, charming his gown to shrink to fit in his pocket as he went.

A house-elf in a neat dress and pinafore was humming to herself in the kitchen, and she looked up as Harry entered. She gave a quick bow and gestured for him to take a seat at the long scrubbed wooden table that had been in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place since he could remember.

“Would Mr Potter care for tea or coffee this morning?” she asked in a squeak.

“Uh, coffee, please. Two sugars,” he asked and she nodded and began to make him a steaming mug of freshly brewed coffee as Hermione came into the kitchen, her hair swept back into a chignon at the base of her neck, wearing a blue skirt-suit.

“Tea, Ms Granger?” the house-elf asked and Hermione gave her a smile and nodded.

“Yes, please Mipsy. We’ve left the laundry in the basket by the staircase and the ironing is hanging from the wardrobe door, if you get round to it?” she said and Mipsy nodded, putting their mugs at their elbows and then leaving the room.

“You… you have a house-elf?” Harry asked and Hermione gave him a quick look.

“She’s not _ ours _, per se. There’s a group of them that run as a company, it’s House Elf owned and operated. Mipsy comes in on Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings and makes breakfast, does a light clean and some laundry, and gets paid 3 galleons an hour,” she said firmly and Harry raised his hands in surrender.

“I’m just surprised. I never thought you’d have one,” he said and Hermione sniffed, lifting her tea to blow across the surface lightly.

“I thoroughly checked the company before I agreed, but it is handy. And we always get her a little something for Christmas and her birthday, which she seems to appreciate,” Hermione said, and then Mipsy came back into the kitchen and they stopped talking about her. She plated them both two Full English Breakfasts and Harry tucked into his with gusto. “Did you sleep well?” Hermione asked, neatly cutting some mushrooms in two. Harry swallowed his mouthful to answer.

“I fell asleep fairly quickly, but kept waking up. I think it's just the jet lag. And anxiety…” he said with a twist of his mouth and Hermione nodded.

“I couldn’t settle. Ron threatened to make me sleep on the sofa if I didn’t stop fidgeting,” Hermione said with a smile and Harry laughed. She twirled her fork in her left hand for a second, one of the tells Harry had noticed throughout their years at Hogwarts - Hermione was nervous.

“You know Law back to front, Hermione,” he said reassuringly. She gave him a small smile and continued to pick at her breakfast. He did the same until Hermione stood, brushing down her skirt and giving the clock over the fireplace a significant look.

“We should go,” she said and Harry nodded, taking a final gulp of tea before rising himself and heading for the front door.

**{#} **

Their fellow candidates were huddled together in the atrium of the examination hall, and it reminded Harry strongly of that first night at Hogwarts, the new first-years crowded together in the portrait room off the Great Hall, waiting for their turn to be Sorted. Especially since they were all wearing gowns. He spotted Malfoy in a corner, frowning at something in the middle distance, but he and Hermione didn’t go over to say ‘hello’. Malfoy’s gown was drawn tight around him, almost like he was trying to hide in it, though Harry could guess at the reason why. His own emotions were fraught, anxiety clawing at his chest like an overenthusiastic pet.

They had entered the building half an hour previously, but it had taken a while to get to the head of the queue for the exam check-in. They had both been given badges, pinned to the front of their suit jackets, which had their names and an examination number underneath. It had been explained that there would be no names on the desks, but their numbers instead and they were not to put their names on the examination papers. Harry had nodded and tried to suppress the tremble of his hands as he pinned the badge to his suit before rejoining Hermione in the atrium, where they now lingered, not talking.

The doors opened to the examination hall and the low rumble of noise cut off quickly. The Fellow who had given them the introductory talk yesterday began to usher the assembled candidates in and Hermione reached over to give Harry’s hand one final squeeze as they were swept away with the other applicants.

Harry found his seat with easy, at the back of a row, six seats behind Malfoy. A paper was already waiting for him at the desk, face down, alongside some muggle pens, and Harry felt a jolt of nerves climb up his throat. As he sat down, Harry spared one final glance at him before trying to turn his mind to the exam ahead.

Once they were all seated, the Fellows shut the hall doors and wound their way through the desks to the front of the hall. There was a large blackboard at the front of the hall, raised on a dias, that proclaimed in large but neat writing ‘SPECIALISED 1’.

“Good morning. You have three hours to complete your Specialised 1 paper. Please turn over your papers and begin,” the Fellow from the night before announced to the hall. There was a wave of rustling paper noises and then the hall fell silent.

Harry flipped over his paper, noting the large purple ‘_M _ ’ next to ‘_History Specialised 1 _’ and scanned the questions laid out before him. He had to choose three of the 78 questions from the list in front of him to answer, and it was key that he chose the right ones. He flipped over the booklet to the second page and took in the questions there, pausing over a likely one.

’_34\. The Cathars were the last true openly Religious _ and _ Magical community in Europe. Discuss. _’

Harry picked up his pen and began.

**{#}**

The three hours flew by, one hour devoted to each question. He had also chosen ’_62\. Why were so many natural philosophers in early modern Europe interested in Alchemy? _ ’ and ’_12\. Was there a decline of magic. If so, why? _’. By the time the Fellow at the front of the hall called the end of the exam, Harry’s hand ached fiercely and his back was tense from sitting so still for so long. He stretched out his hand as the papers were collected, and stood when they were dismissed by the Fellow, making his way out of the hall.

Hermione was waiting for him just beyond the doors, a smudge of ink on her jaw, her hair falling loose of the chignon and curling around her face. She gave him an enquiring look without speaking and Harry gave her a reassuring smile - he was confident in the answers he had given. She gave him a relieved smile back, and Harry knew she felt the same.

“Lunch?” she asked and Harry nodded.

“Yeah, lets,” he said and she looped her arm through his and they began to head for the door. Malfoy was stood to one side of the atrium, looking a bit dazed, and Harry nearly kept walking, if it wasn’t for Hermione stopping dead in her tracks.

“Malfoy, would you like to join us for lunch?” she called to him, and he looked up with a bewildered expression that quickly smoothed out into a neutral one. Harry opened his mouth to protest but Hermione stood on his big toe (entirely on purpose, despite Hermione’s apologetic smile).

“That’s kind, thank you,” he replied, pushing away from the wall and joining them as they left the bustling atrium and escaped into the cool September air. Hermione led them both back to the _ Bear _ where he had met her yesterday and they deposited themselves onto a free table, taking a moment to just breathe and gather themselves.

“How do you think you did?” Hermione asked Malfoy, who looked up in surprise. He was dressed again today in a well-tailored navy suit, which brought out his grey eyes, turning them from silver to storm. Harry blinked and looked away.

“Well enough, I hope. One of my questions was to translate a passage of ancient Mermish, and I might have mixed up the past participle with the past perfect, but otherwise…,” he shrugged one shoulder and Hermione nodded. “Yourselves?” he asked politely and Hermione launched into a blow-by-blow walkthrough of her Law paper, leaving Harry to contemplate whether he could have written more about the work of George Ripley while answering question 62. As Hermione launched into an explanation about her third answer, Harry stood, interrupting her.

“I’m going to get a drink. Hermione?” he asked, and she asked for a pint of coca-cola if they had any. Harry hesitated a second but turned an enquiring gaze on to Malfoy.

“I’ll come with you, actually, I haven’t decided,” Malfoy said, standing up himself. Hermione looked a little put-out that her audience was leaving her, but she gave Harry an encouraging smile just before he headed to the bar.

It was mercifully quiet, and the bartender served Harry two pints of coca-cola right away, leaving Malfoy to decide what drink he wanted. Harry watched as his eyes quickly scanned the shelves behind the bar, his brow furrowing slightly, before he leaned over the bar and quietly ordered a can of Dandelion and Burdock. The bartender gave him a quizzical look but only offered a glance in response. Malfoy paid, handling the Muggle money easily, and they went back to the table.

“Dandelion and Burdock?” Hermione asked, wrinkling her nose. Malfoy cracked open the can and poured it into the glass, but he only shrugged.

“It was a drink my Grandmother always gave me when we visited the Dowager Cottage. I haven’t had it in a long time,” he said and neither of them had a reply to that.

“So, you were studying in France?” Hermione asked, lifting the pint that Harry had bought her to her mouth. Malfoy nodded, pouring the last of the contents of the can into the glass carefully, like he was measuring out a potions ingredients. He looked up once he was done, setting the empty can to one side. Every moment was careful and calculated, Harry realised. Malfoy never made a move without it being deliberate.

“Yes, Genealogy and Anthropology,” he said eventually, sitting up straight in his chair and lifting his glass too. Hermione’s eyebrows shot up.

“An interesting choice,” she commented and Malfoy made a small noise of agreement, but didn't elaborate any further. Hermione paused for a moment, lingering a bit too long while waiting for Malfoy to fill up the silence, before she spoke again. “Well, I read Jurisprudence at Magdalen College, just down the road,” she said, making a vague gesture with her free hand to outside somewhere. “And Harry, well he-,”

“I studied History of the Dark Arts,” Harry said, interrupting Hermione. He wanted to be the one to say it, and he wasn’t surprised to see Malfoy’s eyes widened. He plowed on. “Specifically with a focus on post 18th Century Dark Arts. I wrote my dissertation for my Bachelors on the Rise and Fall of Grindelwald and the Dark Artefacts he used in his consolidation of power,” he explained, watching as Malfoy's eyebrows slowly rose.

“That’s... unexpected,” Malfoy said after a moment of silence and Harry nodded. It was, he agreed. He, like everyone else, was thoroughly sick of the Dark Arts and anything to do with them by the end of the War. But while he was helping Hogwarts being repaired, Harry spent a lot of his downtime in the library. It was quiet and had come out of the battle relatively unscathed, and he had wandered the shelves and picked up any books that caught his interest, and most of them had been about the Dark Arts. The more he read, the more fascinated he became, but not necessarily in the Dark Arts themselves, but by the context that surrounded them - the struggle for power, knowledge, glory.

He had signed up along with Hermione to take his Seventh Year, much to the surprise of Ron and his other friends, and he hadn’t looked back. Academia, though fraught with its own politics, soothed Harry’s mind in a way little had before.

And if he had chosen to live in Australia for a little bit of anonymity, well, that was his decision alone.

“We should probably order. We need to be back in an hour or so,” Hermione said, glancing at the slim watch on her wrist. She reached for the menus in the centre of the table, and handed Harry and Draco one each. Harry took up the menu and shielded his face from Malfoy’s questioning gaze.

**{#}**

Harry had elected to answer ‘_3\. Do we owe duties to the dead? _ ’ ’_12\. What is the use of magic? _ ’ and ’_26\. Debunk a modern myth._’ for his GENERAL I paper, which, like the Specialist paper, had lasted three hours. His back was screaming at him by the time he stood up from the desk he had been assigned, and his hand protested loudly whenever he so much as twitched a finger.

The aches felt deeper than the ones he had gotten after long Quidditch practices, but then Harry to remind himself that he was older and more likely to feel these things far deeper. He found Hermione in the atrium once again, and was about to suggest heading back to Grimmauld Place when she went up on her tip-toes and waved across the crowd. Harry shrank back when he saw Malfoy approaching.

His hair was ruffled, like he had run his fingers through it too many times, and, not that Harry was looking particularly, his lips were flushed pink, probably from Malfoy biting them nervously. Harry had to look away before he embarrassed himself by staring.

“How’d you do?” Hermione asked, and Malfoy shrugged again.

“Well enough, I hope. I had best be going though, I’m joining Mother for dinner,” he said and Harry tried not to frown. Malfoy gave them both a small smile and wave, then disappeared into the ground flooding out of the atrium into the autumn sunset.

“Shall we head home?” Harry suggested and Hermione gave him an assessing look and then nodded. They wound their way out of the atrium and over to the Bodleian Library, where they found a quiet corner and turned on their heels, disapparating away.

Harry landed on the front step of Grimmauld Place, a second behind Hermione who was already opening the door. She gave a little flinch as he landed, and he reached for her, concerned.

“Are you alright?” he asked and she nodded, pushing the door open. She held the door for him as she stepped through and he followed her into the hallway. She gave a shaky sigh and reached for her chignon, pulling her hair free and shaking it out. Harry gave her another concerned look and she smiled at him.

“I’m fine. It’s just… well, it made me think of when we were running from the Ministry of Magic, that’s all,” she said, kicking off her heels and letting them land with a clatter at the foot of the stairs. Harry toed off his shoes and nudged them to one side, following Hermione through to the kitchen. She paused at the fridge and frowned. “Would you like something alcoholic or not?” she asked and Harry sat down at the kitchen table.

“A cup of tea would be nice,” he replied and she smiled and set to work, putting the kettle down a top the Aga and letting the water boil, fetching mugs from the cupboard and adding two sugars to one mug and half a teaspoon to the other. Harry watched her putter in silence, enjoying the easy quiet that came with being two very good friends.

Once their tea was ready, she handed him the mug with half a teaspoon of sugar and sat down next to him, wrapping both her hands around her own mug. She stared into her tea for a second, before she began to speak.

“Do you ever think it’ll leave us?” she asked, and Harry didn't need to ask what she was asking about. She was asking about the trauma of the War, the fear that came with someone standing too close, of not having your wand in reach, of watching boggarts turn into the dead bodies of friends and family alike.

“No,” Harry admitted truthfully. “I don’t like dark, cramped spaces. I don’t like loud noises. I don’t like feeling cold,” he said and Hermione nodded. “But, it’s a part of me now, I suppose. Just like the scar,” and he reached up and touched it, lightly brushing his fingers over the raised surface. “It’s there, but it’s faded. It doesn’t hurt anymore. I hope that one day, the War won’t hurt either,”

They sat in silence for a while longer, sipping their tea. Hermione sighed and stood, looking at the clock on the wall.

“I’d better get started on dinner. Give me a hand?” she asked, and Harry stood and helped her.

**{#}**

_ “Harry Potter…” there was a whisper in the air, like a rush of wind through leaves. Harry turned and looked up at the tall trees surrounding him, some of the dead and bare, some flushed green with leaves and vines. The wind prickles his skin and once again he hears that whisper “Harry Potter…”. A flash, like lightning, of emerald green light and Harry flinched back, stumbling backwards over a tree root, landing on the damp earth below. Worms writhed on the surface, and Harry tried to stand up, but felt fingers reaching up from the earth and pulling him down. _

_ He looked up and a woman stood in front of him, her face blank and cold, her long blond hair matted to either side of her face. _

_ "Dead, my Lord,” she whispered and she leaned forward and touched one long, pale finger to Harry’s forehead and he - _

He sat bolt upright in bed, gasping for air. He felt clammy and cold, the duvet kicked down around his feet, tangled. He reached up one shaking hand to touch the scar on his forehead and it felt no different. There was no stickiness that might suggest blood, no pain… Just an old scar.

Breathing shakily, Harry looked over at the small alarm clock sat on the bedside table. _3:21am _. He sighed and disentangled himself from the bedding, swinging his legs over the side and standing. He wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep for a little while, otherwise he’d risk falling straight back into the nightmare. He padded over to the dresser against the wall and rummaged through his backpack laid atop it, pulling out some books. It had been extended with Hermione’s handy charm that she had taught him a few years ago, and Harry always thanked his stars for her.

He took the books and left the bedroom, cautiously making his way downstairs to the living room and shutting the door with a quiet _ snick _ behind him. With a wave of his hand, the fire in the hearth came to life and crackled merrily, casting the room into a warm glow as Harry sat down on the sofa. Australians put a lot of emphasis on casting wandless and silent magic, and he had learned a few spells in his time abroad.

He picked up one of the books next to him on the sofa (‘_Born Again: Magic in the Renaissance Period’ _) and opened to the last chapter he had been reading, picking up where he left off, reading about John Dee. He tucked himself into a corner of the sofa and settled in to read until his mind calmed down, but looked up when he heard the living room door open. Ron entered, his red hair a riot, rubbing his eyes, before blinking blearily at Harry.

"You alright, mate?” he slurred, still half-asleep and Harry nodded.

“Sorry. I had a nightmare. Thought I’d come down here and do a bit of reading to calm down,” he said in a quiet tone, lifting the book for Ron to see. Ron blinked at him and then sighed, turning to shut the door and then taking a seat next to Harry, who watched him in bemusement.

“Want to talk about it?” Ron asked, and Harry thought for a second. At Hogwarts, he had spent so long trying not to burden anyone with his nightmares that he had let some very important people down - and even got Sirius killed. It still stung, that one, even after all this time.

“I was in the Forbidden Forest and Narcissa Malfoy was there,” he said, closing the book. Anxiety clawed at his throat a little, but Harry ignored it. “I fell on to the floor and it felt like something was trying to pull me into the earth. And then she said - well, she told _ him _ that I was dead,”

“Wait - you saw You-Know-Who?” Ron said, and Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. After all this time, Ron still insisted on never calling Voldemort by his actual name, even though he was very much dead this time.

“No, I didn’t,” Harry replied, shaking his head. "I think... I think I heard him though. Calling my name,” he trailed off, blinking. Ron patted him on the shoulder.

“I guess doing your exams might be bringing it all up?” Ron suggested and Harry nodded.

“Yeah, maybe. After all, I did have to write quite a lot about the Dark Arts today,” he said and Ron gave him a sidelong look.

“Honestly mate, if someone had told me at Hogwarts that you’d become a proper boffin after school, I would've laughed in their face,” Ron said, shaking his head, and Harry grinned.

“I would’ve laughed too,” he admitted and Ron gave him a small smile.

“So why’d you do it then? Why'd you get into books and that? _ Especially _Dark Arts?” Ron asked and Harry tilted his head back against the firm cushions behind him, thinking.

“Because, I think, I want to _ know _,” he said, and Ron frowned at him.

“Know what?” he asked and Harry shrugged.

“When I figure that out, I’ll let you know.”

**{#}**

The next morning started the same as the one before, though Mipsy wasn’t in the kitchen with a cooked breakfast for them. Harry, a little sleep-deprived from his early morning study session downstairs (though he had gone back to bed about an hour after Ron) burned a slice of toast on the Aga and scrapped as much char off as he could before lathering it with butter and marmalade while he waited for the kettle to boil, listening to Ron’s off-key singing from the shower upstairs. Harry was, in truth, very impressed that he could hear it at all, but judging by Hermione’s eye-roll as she entered the kitchen, her hair tied back in a bun today, she was used to it.

Hermione ate a piece of less burned toast and they both gulped down some tea before heading for the door, Hermione pausing to shout “Love you!” up to Ron at the bottom of the stairs. Ron yelled it back and then after an awkward pause said “And you, Harry!” to which Harry laughed and replied in kind.

They Apparated back into the Bodleian Library, pulling on their gowns as they exited and once again joined their applicants in the atrium, picking up their badges for the second day of exams. Harry spotted Malfoy leaning against one of the walls, and he caught Harry’s eye before giving a small smile and then ducking his head down again, frowning.

It was the same schedule as yesterday. Specialised paper in the morning, General paper in the afternoon. The Fellows let them into the hall and Harry took the seat he had taken the day before, resisting the urge to touch the booklet laid face-down before him. Malfoy walked past him and spared a glance over his shoulder to look at Harry, who nodded in greeting.

Once they were all sat down, the Fellow on the dias cleared his throat.

“You have three hours. You may begin,” and there was a wave of noise as booklets were turned over and Harry began to read.

**{#}**

‘_24\. What were the principal uses of EITHER magic OR divination OR astrology in any one phase of the Middle Ages? _’

'_48\. When and why did early-modern Europeans stop believing in witchcraft and magic?’ _

_ ‘59. Is there a historical basis for most late-modern fairytales? If so, what?’ _

Harry’s hand was nearly cramping when the Fellows called time on their SPECIALIST II exam. He shook his right hand as he stood, trying to get some feeling back into the tips of his fingers from where he had been squeezing his pen as he wrote furiously.

Hermione was waiting for him just inside the atrium. Her hair had fallen mostly loose of her bun and she was trying to tie it back again, three bobby pins gripped between her teeth. Harry smiled at her and she rolled her eyes.

“Don’t laugh,” she said around the bobby pins and Harry shook his head.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said just as Malfoy joined them. He frowned at Hermione.

“Can I help?” he asked and Hermione gave him an unconvinced look, an eyebrow raised. He shrugged. “Just offering,” he said and Hermione sighed, letting her hair fall free and dropping her arms to her side.

“Let’s get lunch, I can sort it out later,” she said, striding off towards the sunlit outdoors. Harry and Malfoy followed, knocking shoulders as they went through the door, both of them squeezing inwards slightly. Harry felt heat rise on his cheeks, and mentally chided himself. He was not a schoolboy anymore!

The pub was a bit fuller than it had been the day before, and they found a table towards the back of the pub, all of them slumping down heavily. Harry felt a headache growing behind his eyes and took off his glasses briefly to pinch the bridge of his nose, attempting to alleviate the pressure.

“I’ll go get some drinks. Same as yesterday?” Malfoy said, standing. Harry glanced up at him, but the protest died in his throat. Malfoy looked almost hopeful, and Harry nodded, closing his eyes as Malfoy walked away. Hermione cleared her throat after a minute and Harry opened his eyes.

“You could be kinder to him,” she said, and Harry frowned. Hermione rolled her eyes. “I don’t think he has many friends here in England anymore,” she went on, frowning herself. “He was under house arrest for the last year of Hogwarts, and I think a lot of the Death Eater's children fled to America. I doubt he keeps in contact with anyone he knew at school,”

“How is it my fault?” Harry asked, feeling his temper rise. He had forgiven Malfoy as much as he could, given all he had been through at his hand. Hermione held up a quelling hand.

“I’m not attacking you for it, Harry. All I’m saying is, you could be kinder. His subject of study sounds interesting, ask him about it?” she suggested, just as Malfoy reached the table, the glasses balanced in his grip. “Thank you,” Hermione said with a smile when he put the pint of coca-cola down in front of her.

“You said you were studying Anthropology and Genealogy, Malfoy?” Harry asked, nodding his thanks when he received his own pint glass. Malfoy took his seat and began meticulously pouring out his Dandelion and Burdock like he had yesterday, glancing up to look at Harry.

“I am,” he acknowledged and Harry resisted the urge to grit his teeth.

“Did you have any focus in that?” he asked and Malfoy nodded, casting them both a wary glance.

“Actually, yes. I’m studying Pureblood anthropology and genealogy,” he said and Harry felt a cold shiver go through him.

“Trying to prove Voldemort’s ideals then?” he snapped before he could help himself. The anxiety he had felt at the nightmare still lingered and made him snappish, it seemed. Hermione kicked him under the table, and while a flush rose on Malfoy’s cheeks, he maintained his composure.

“The opposite. I’m working to prove that being a Pureblood means nothing. That magic is a lucky combination of genes that anyone could have, and that while being born into a Magical family means you have a higher chance of being a Wizard, it’s by no means a guarantee. It’s actually been… quite liberating,” he said, pausing for a second to catch Harry’s gaze. They looked at each other for a long moment and then Harry looked away.

A feeling of shame crept up over him. What was that saying? _ To Assume makes an arse out of you and me _? He certainly understood it now.

“That’s quite noble work, Malfoy. Do you get much interest in it from other academics?” Hermione asked, and Malfoy turned his gaze to her, and they began to chat about Malfoy’s field of study, leaving Harry to wallow in his shame.

**{#}**

_ ’22. ‘When we turn from anger we turn from insight, saying we will accept only the designs already known, deadly and safely familiar’. Discuss.’ _

_ ’11. Does time heal historic injustice?’ _

Harry had answered his first two questions and was reading the rest of the questions on the General II exam before him. Sat a few rows ahead of him, he could just see the curve of Malfoy’s spine as he leaned low over his desk, and Harry thought if he listened hard enough, he could make out the scratch of Malfoy’s pen above the others, though he was probably lying to himself about that.

He went through the questions one by one, jotting next to each a small word in pencil, trying to prompt something in him to make him want to answer the question. That was the ethos he had taken with the General papers - find a question he _ wanted _ to answer, not just a question he knew he could.

His gaze lingered over one. ’_17\. Is there life after death?’ _. He tapped the tip of the pencil against the question a few times, letting the question mull over in his mind for a little while, before dropping the pencil, picking up the provided pen and turning over a fresh sheet of paper. He scribbled the question at the top and began to write.

**{#}**

Hermione’s back made an audible _ crunch _ as she twisted from side to side in the atrium, stood amongst the relieved candidates that had just exited their last paper. Harry felt drained, mentally and physically and Malfoy looked like he did as well. He was leaning against the wall next to them, his shoulders rounded as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I suppose that’s that, then,” Hermione said, stopping her twisting with a sigh. Harry nodded, looking around the room at the other applicants, some of whom looked relieved, others tearful, all of them exhausted. Malfoy looked up and around and then straightened, pulling his suit jacket straight.

“I should head off. I’m due back in France this week,” he said with a smile and Hermione nodded, reaching out a hand. Malfoy hesitated but then took it, and they shook.

“Best of luck, Malfoy. Hopefully we’ll see you for the vivas,” she said and Malfoy gave her a small smile, releasing his hold on her hand. Harry hesitated for a second, and then held out his own hand. Malfoy took it and they shook.

“Let us know how you get on?” Harry asked lightly and Malfoy gave him a surprised look, but nodded.

“Yes, you too,” he said and then he gave them a final smile before squeezing between them and exiting the building, his hair shining gold for a second in the doorway.

“What time is your portkey?” Hermione asked lightly and Harry turned his attention back to her, ignoring how his cheeks suddenly felt hot.

“Not until tomorrow morning,” he said and Hermione nodded, reaching out and looping her arm through his.

“Lovely. Indian tonight then?” she suggested and Harry nodded, leading them to the apparition spot.

**{#}**

It had taken Harry a few days to settle back into his routine in Melbourne. He spent his mornings in St Kilda’s, either at the Vineyard or at the Galleon Café, where he was regular enough that the woman behind the bar knew his usual coffee order. He read a bit, and wrote letters (to Luna, who was somewhere in the outback with her fiancé; to Neville, who had announced that he was going to take the position of Herbology Professor after Christmas; to Ron and Hermione, just letting them know he was home and settling back in). A few times, he had unfurled a blank sheet of parchment and written ‘_To Malfoy _,’ at the top, but then his brain stuttered and he couldn’t think of what else to write.

In the afternoons, he went to the library at Birrarung Marr. The University itself was hidden in the Yarra Ranges, and designed to be eco-friendly and blend with the rainforest surroundings. The Library was a modern mix of wood and glass, partially reclaimed by the vines growing up the side of the building, but Harry thought it had it’s charm, especially in comparison to the Hogwarts Library which smelled constantly of dust.

He had taken a seat in one of the study rooms at the top of the library, writing out a list of books to request, when one of the librarians knocked on the room’s glass door. Harry looked up and smiled as Rachel opened the door, a package held in one of her hands.

“Morning Harry,” she said with a smile and he returned the greeting. “This came for you this morning. I think whoever wrote didn’t have your home address,” she handed over the parcel and Harry studied the writing on the brown paper, though he didn’t recognise it. He set it on the table with a frown.

“Thank you for bringing it over Rachel. I’ll make sure you don’t receive anything else for me,” he said and she bobbed her head in acknowledgement and then left him to it. Harry sighed and finished scribbling out his request list, dropping it on the small tray on a shelf in the room and turning to the parcel while he waited for the books to be sent up.

It was neatly and securely wrapped in plain brown paper, and Harry’s name and the University address was written in neat cursive on the front. Harry ran his thumb across the folds of brown paper, unwrapping a clearly old but well maintained book. His heart jumped a bit.

‘_Dark Arts of the Most Wondrous and Pow'rful’ _ was the title and Harry ran his hands reverently over the gold embossed title. This book had been out of print since the 16th Century and while the Bodleian Library had a copy, they required everything short of a kidney before they would hand it over. Harry had once drunkenly proclaimed he would sell his soul to see a copy, though his study group had thankfully talked him out of performing the rite.

There was a letter tucked just inside the front cover that Harry opened, surprised to see that his hands were shaking ever so slightly.

“_Dear Potter, _

_ I hope this letter finds you well. I apologise for sending this directly to your University, but unfortunately I am unsure of your home address. _

_ I hope you will find this volume useful in your studies. It has unfortunately been languishing in the library here at Malfoy Manor for many years, and I thought it better suited to being studied and enjoyed. I will admit some surprise in the area of your study, but it is a fascinating subject, though one with which I am well and truly _ ** _done_ ** _ . _

_ I do ask a return favour though - if you find any papers on the links between Aboriginal Magic and White-Australian Magic, I would appreciate if you could send me a reference. I’m currently studying the differences and similarities between indigenous magic and that of colonised nations. _

_ Regards,_

_D. Malfoy”_

Harry’s heart skipped a beat as his eyes traced over the elaborate ‘D’ in Malfoy’s first name. The letter surprised him, he couldn’t deny it, but it also gave him a strange feeling, a sort of warmth that spread from his heart outwards.

There was a _ pop _ as the stack of books he had requested from the Library appeared on the shelf next to the request tray, and Harry jumped a little at the sound. He collected the books and stacked them next to the letter and the book Malfoy had sent him. He looked between the two for a minute before reaching into his backpack on the floor and pulling out a sheet of parchment along with a pen. He paused after writing ‘_To Malfoy _,’ and then smiled to himself, ‘_Thank you for both your letter and the book! I’m glad it reached me, but I’ve written my home address on the back of this letter, just in case. Are you sure your Mother won’t mind me borrowing the book? It looks very old and I know that this book hasn’t been in print since the 1700s. (Though you might have to pry it out of my hands if you ask me to return it. _’

He stopped there, feeling his mouth quirk in a smile. He set the letter aside and scribbled a note off to the Librarians asking for anything they might have about aboriginal and colonial magic, and then pulled ‘_Dark Arts of the Most Wondrous and Pow’rful’ _towards himself, turning the first pages and beginning to read.

**{#}**

What followed was a series of letters that Harry couldn’t have predicted, even with one of Trelawney’s most polished crystal balls. Whichever poor Owl was having to transport their letters was hopefully getting fed well, given that as soon as Harry received a reply from Malfoy (thanking him for sending over the papers and also insisting that the book was not a loan, but a gift), he was writing back the next day. On and on it went, letter after letter, Harry’s indifference for Malfoy thawing into something more.

‘_ … Unfortunately following the Battle, my friends were forbidden from speaking to me by their parents. Did you know that neither Blaise nor Pansy’s parents had any allegiance to You-Know-Who? They were tarnished with the same brush as me purely because of their House…’ _

_ ‘ _ … _ I used to have nightmares all the time, straight after the battle. Ron used to stay awake every night until I woke up from a nightmare, then we’d talk and I’d go back to sleep and he’d go to bed. He’s a good mate…’ _

_ ‘… with Father in Azkaban, my Mother hasn’t much to do if I’m not home. She gardens and reads, and I think one of the Aurors who’s posted at the gates every day is teaching her to crochet, but I can’t attest to her success…” _

‘… _ Australia can be lonely sometimes, but then I remember why I’m here. I like the anonymity, the quiet that comes from being just another Pom (English person, to the uninitiated). Here, I can study and just be me, not Harry Potter…’ _

_ ‘… I regret a lot of things, truly. I hope the work I’m doing now, my research, will mean that no one in the future will have the same regrets I do…’ _

‘…_ Yours, Draco. _’

Three weeks nearly had passed, and they had exchanged nearly a dozen letters. Harry, to his own embarrassment, kept the stack of Draco’s letters on his desk at him, the neat print of Harry’s name and address greeting him every morning. The last letter had been signed off ‘Yours, Draco’, and Harry had address his reply to ‘Draco’, feeling a bit giddy at the thought. He was fleshing out his reply while sat at the Galleon Café when someone softly rapped on the table he was sitting at.

Harry looked up, ready to apologise to whoever was waiting for him to move, but the words stuck in his throat.

“Hi Harry,” Cameron said with a smile, his warm eyes crinkling in the corners. Harry sat back in his chair, and tried to make himself smile in return.

“Uh, Cameron - hi?” Harry said, sounding dazed even to himself.

“Can I sit?” Cameron said, gesturing at the free chair opposite Harry. Harry stared at it for a second and then nodded, not trusting his own voice. “So, how have you been?” Cameron said, flashing Harry a smile that would have previously made him weak at the knees, but now looked fake. His hair was styled a little too perfectly, the beachy curls nearly too precise to be natural. Given that they were just coming out of a particularly harsh winter, Harry had a feeling that Cameron's sun-kissed glow was given a helping hand too.

“Fine, thanks. You?” Harry asked, trying to keep his voice neutral and light. Cameron squirmed in his chair a little and Harry felt his stomach clench. He knew what was coming. “Cameron-,” he tried to say ahead of his ex-boyfriend, but Cameron beat him to the punch.

“Do you think we could try again, Harry?” Cameron asked, and Harry felt himself deflate. Cameron bit his bottom lip and looked up at Harry through his eyelashes. “I’ve missed you,” he said softly, edging a hand out towards where Harry’s was resting, pen held lightly in his hand from where he had been writing out the reply to Draco’s letter.

_ Draco_.

When had he become Draco? Had it been when he had admitted to Harry the loneliness he felt after his friends had abandoned him? Had it been when Harry had confessed to his recurring nightmares? Harry wasn’t sure he could pinpoint the moment, the word that had made_ Malfoy _ turn into _ Draco _, but that’s what he was now. He smiled to himself, and then pulled his hand away from Cameron before he could touch it.

“I’m flattered Cameron, but no,” he said quietly, but firmly, and Cameron all but deflated in front of him.

“But, Harry-,” he started, but Harry started collecting his things, tucking them away into the backpack next to his chair.

“I’m still waiting to hear back from this Fellowship I applied for, and… well, I might be moving back to Europe in the next few months,” he said, surprising even himself at the revelation. He loved Australia but had never felt quite at home here, and maybe it was time to go back. Enough time had passed that his notoriety must have faded, or so Harry hoped. He gave Cameron a genuine smile and patted his hand where it still rested on the table between them. “Best of luck for the future, Cameron,” he said and then with a smile, he hefted his backpack onto his shoulder and walked away, leaving Cameron gobsmacked behind him.

Harry smiled the whole way home.

His little flat in Hawthorn wasn’t much to look at on the outside, but Harry loved the interior. Natural light flooded into the flat from the windows, and no room was ever completely dark. His books were crammed into bookshelves, and potted plants wafted their leaves lazily at him as he walked passed them (the ivy might have even petted his hair), dropping his backpack on the floor next to the kitchen.

His heart nearly stuttered to halt when Harry saw there was a new letter in the post tray on the kitchen counter, charmed to transport any post from the mailbox at the building entrance to the tray. He took a shuddering breath before reaching for it, weighing it in his hands. It felt light, which wasn’t always a good sign. His name and address was neatly printed on the front of the letter and Harry turned it over to rip open the envelope.

“_Dear Mr. H Potter, _

_ We are pleased to inform you that you have been short-listed for the All Souls Fellowship following your examinations in September. We kindly invite you to a _ Viva_, to be hosted at All Souls College on Saturday 26th October to discuss your examination answers… _”

There was more information about the Viva below, but Harry’s eyes skimmed over it. His heart was pounding in his chest and he felt a little light-headed, like he had just performed some sort of Quidditch trick and was regaining his equilibrium.

He pulled out the muggle mobile phone he kept in his backpack and called one of the only contacts he had.

“Hello?” came the sleepy mumble from the other line, and Harry nearly shouted in response.

“Hermione, I’ve been short-listed!” he shouted down the phone and there was a moment of confused silence before Hermione shrieked and Ron swore in the background, obviously startled awake.

“Harry! Oh Harry, congratulations! Ron, go check, have I had a letter?” Hermione asked breathlessly and Harry could hear Ron grumbling, but there his voice disappeared from the line. “He’s just gone. Oh Harry, really, I’m so pleased! When is it?” she asked, and Harry glanced at the calendar on the kitchen wall.

“Saturday, actually,” he said, raising his eyebrows. He jotted down a note on some spare paper to remind himself to organise a Portkey.

“Do you want to stay here Friday night then?” Hermione suggested and Harry gave a small smile, though he knew she couldn’t see it.

“That would be great Hermione, thank you,” he said and then Ron’s voice reappeared.

“I have one! Ron, hold the phone, let me just-,” and then the line went fuzzy as Hermione passed her phone over to Ron, who then spoke.

“Well done Harry!” Ron said cheerfully and Harry thanked him. “Hold on, Hermione’s just getting her letter opener,” Ron said in a teasing tone, and Harry could hear Hermione’s snappish reply. Ron laughed. “She wants to preserve the envelope, just in case,” he told Harry, who smiled. There was a pause and then Hermione gave another happy shriek. “She-,” and then there was the sound of a lip-smacking kiss, which made Harry draw back a bit.

“Harry, I’m short-listed too!” Hermione shouted down the line at him, and Harry was glad he had taken the phone away from his ear. “Do you think Malfoy was too? I’ll write to him in the morning, just to check. Oh Harry, this is amazing!” there was a rustle as Ron passed the phone back to Hermione. “Ron - are you going back to sleep?” she said in amazement and Harry laughed.

“I’ll let you go Hermione, I’m sorry for waking you. I’ll see you Friday?” he said and she sighed and bid him a good night and gave another congratulations before they both hung up. Harry grinned at the letter in front of him, the one that put him one step closer to his goal.

Remembering he had been writing a reply to Malfoy's latest letter, Harry fished it out of his backpack and set it on the kitchen counter, leaning over it to continue writing.

“_ … You wouldn’t believe what I just received…” _

**{#}**

Whereas October in Australia was promising to be warmer, with less rain and more sun, October in England was threatening the opposite. Cold bit at Harry’s nose and cheeks as he waited in the All Souls Quadrangle, breathing in the fresh October air. Hermione had already gone into her Viva, and Harry was next. The other candidates, both Magical and Muggle, waited inside the building, but Harry was keeping an eye on the gate from Radcliffe Square.

He smiled when he saw a figure approaching, his pale hair practically white in the late autumn light. Harry raised a hand in greeting and the figure sped up, coming into view.

“Ma- Draco,” Harry said by way of greeting, his heart skipping a beat at Draco’s smile.

“Harry,” he said, reaching out a hand. They shook, though it felt oddly formal after their weeks of letter writing. “Has Granger gone in already?” he asked, jamming his hands into his coat pockets, his nose pink in the cold.

“She’s in with the Magical Fellows now. She was nearly vibrating off the walls,” Harry said with a smile and Draco gave a huff of a laugh. “Shall we go inside?” Harry said, gesturing, and Draco nodded, following him indoors and out of the cold.

The applicants all milled around the atrium, some gathered around the tea making facilities like the hot water urn held all the answers, some sat in the scattered chairs, elbows braced on their knees while they stared into space. Harry and Draco shucked their coats and hung them up on the provided coat hooks, looking around the room at their fellow nervous candidates.

“Did you make notes of your answers?” Draco asked as they walked over to the table that held the clean mugs. Harry nodded, and Draco sighed. “I did, but only after I got home each night. I think I remembered enough to talk about them, but… well, we’ll see, I suppose,” he said and Harry gave him an encouraging smile as he dropped a tea bag in Draco’s mug.

They said little while they finished off making their teas, exchanging pleasantries. Harry said the weather in Australia was improving, while Draco said the weather in France was turning more miserable every day, but at least it wasn’t so horrendously hot anymore. They found two free seats and carefully sipped their tea, the silence stagnating around them.

Harry was confused. Their letters had been intimate, in a way. Harry rarely expressed his fears in written form (Merlin knows the Daily Prophet would have had a field day if they had somehow got hold of one of the letters), but Draco reciprocated and expressed his own thoughts in the same way. Harry was about to say something about it, when Draco spoke.

“Could I ask you something?” he said and Harry nodded, setting his mug down by his feet. He looked at Draco expectantly, and the other man hesitated for a second, twisting his mouth to one side in a curiously un-Malfoy-like gesture. “Were you… well, were you seeing anyone in Australia?” he blurted out and Harry grinned. He leaned back in the chair and ran a hand through his hair, making the mess even worse if Draco’s frown was anything to go by.

“Yeah, I was. Well, I broke up with him prior to coming over to the examinations. He tried to reconnect when I was back in Australia, but I put a stop to that,” he said and Draco nodded, a hint of colour rising in his cheeks. He leaned a bit closer, as if to ask something else, but one of the doors off the atrium opened and a Magical Fellow in a purple-piped gown stepped forward.

“Draco Malfoy, please,” he called and Draco stood, nearly dropping his mug. Harry reached for it and took it off him, smiling at Draco’s grateful look.

“Good luck,” Harry murmured, and Draco gave him a shaky smile and then walked away to join the Fellow. They shook hands and then Draco followed him through the door. Harry sat, Draco’s mug in hand, and waited.

Hermione reappeared a few minutes later, looking a little pale but relieved. She collapsed into the seat next to Harry, who gave her an enquiring look. She held up a hand and turned it from side to side, and Harry understood that she wasn’t sure if her Viva was enough… They didn’t speak until the doorway to the room Hermione had exited opened again, and another Fellow stepped through.

“Harry Potter,” she called, and Harry placed Draco’s mug on the floor next to his own and stood. Hermione reached up to squeeze his hand and gave him an encouraging smile, and Harry gave her a shaky one in return, his heart thundering in his chest.

He took a few steps forward and shook the Fellows hand, and then she led him into a room.

There were at least fifteen Fellows sat in a semi-circle around the room, all facing a lone chair, with the Fellow gestured for Harry to sit in. He lowered himself down, half-expecting charmed manacles to clamp themselves onto his wrists, but nothing happened. The Fellow who called his name took her seat in the semi-circle, and a Fellow to the right of her cleared his throat.

“I am Fellow Williams. As a brief introduction, Mr Potter, this Viva will take about half an hour and in it we will be discussing the answers given in your four examination papers and any questions they may have raised. The Fellows in this room are Witches and Wizards and under the Statute of Secrecy, nothing you describe here that involves Magic will be divulged to our Muggle Fellows. Do you have any questions before we begin?” he said, and Harry shook his head.

“No, Sir,” he replied, surprised about how clear his voice sounded. The Fellow bobbed his head.

“Then we shall begin. Fellow Braithwaite, I believe you had a question regarding Mr Potter’s answer in General I?” he said, looking across the circle and the Fellow sat there nodded.

“Yes. Mr Potter, in your answer to question 26, Debunk a Modern Myth, you stated that Persephone…”

And so it went, Harry answering questions regarding the answers he had written in the examination papers. One Fellow wanted to know his justification in saying the Tudor period was the start of the decline of magic, another wanted to discuss his answer regarding the basis of late-modern fairytales. Harry found the more he spoke, the more confident he felt. He knew this subject like he knew his bones - all the knowledge he had accumulated over the years was there around him, like a warm blanket, and he leaned into it every time he talked. Time was ticking on, and Fellow Williams, who had originally spoken to Harry, spoke again.

“I have a final question for Mr Potter, though this does not relate to his examination answers,” Fellow Williams said, and Harry nodded, swallowing the nerves he felt. The Fellows in the room shifted in their chairs in anticipation as Williams drew himself up. “Why this subject, Mr Potter?” he asked, focusing his gaze on Harry. Harry was startled to see that his eyes were green, like Harry’s own, and it mollified him a little. He sat a little straighter in his chair, taking a breath, settling back into that knowledge again.

“I studied History of the Dark Arts because…” and he hesitated. Could he verbalise what he felt about the subject. He could only try. “Because I spent most of my life as a sentient Dark Artefact. I was a Horcrux,” he said, shrugging one shoulder, striving for casualness. “And nothing I could find in the Hogwarts library could really explain what that meant,” he paused here, scanning the Fellows faces for signs that they understood what he was trying to say. He continued. “Horcruxes were mostly objects, they were _ never _ meant to be living things, and I couldn't understand how I, a human being, a _ person _ with my own thoughts and feelings and personality had somehow become an Artefact of Dark Magic,” he leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his thighs, and took a deep breath, steadying himself. 

“I’m sure you all know my history. You know I’m the Boy-Who-Lived, the… the man who defeated Voldemort,” and here some of the Fellows flinched and Harry smiled a little, “but I also grew up abused, and shunned and rejected by the only family I had. And when I learned what Horcruxes were, and what effect they had on people around them, I started to think maybe that was why, _ why _ I was treated the way I was as a child,” one of the Fellows sniffed and Harry caught her discreetly wiping her eyes. He leaned back in the chair, spreading his hands wide. “I think my fascination with History, in _ this _ subject, comes from the fact that I’m trying to understand myself. I am.. I’m trying to reconcile what I know to be true with my own experiences - and they don't always add up - and why I am who I am after all that’s happened me. I feel that by knowing my history, by knowing _ our _ history, I can see the future far more clearly than I ever could before,” he finished and he looked at Fellow Williams, who nodded once.

“Thank you Mr Potter. Please return to this college next Saturday at five in the afternoon for the announcement of our successful candidates,” Williams said, and Harry stood, thanked the assembled Fellows, and left.

Hermione and Draco were waiting for him outside, their heads bent close together. Draco looked almost like he was pleading, and Hermione looked flustered, but they both smiled at him as he approached, standing from their seats.

“How’d it go?” Hermione asked, standing, and Harry nodded, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets.

“Well, I think. How about you?” he asked Draco, who shrugged.

“I suppose we’ll find out next week,” he said and Harry smiled. He felt drained, both emotionally and mentally, but he was pleased to see Draco, despite the awkwardness he had felt earlier.

“Shall we go for a drink?” Hermione asked, brushing down her skirt, and Harry and Draco nodded. The walk over to the _ Bear _ was quiet but companionable, and when they reached the pub, Draco stopped Harry just outside the door.

“Could I have a word, actually?” he asked and Hermione gave him a stern look but disappeared inside the pub, leaving them both on the cobbled street outside. Once Hermione was definitely inside, Draco turned to Harry. “I wanted to ask if you’d like to come to the Manor tomorrow? I’m working on the assumption that you won’t be returning to Australia before you hear about the Fellowship,” he said, almost shyly and Harry smiled.

“Yeah, that’d be nice,” he said. Draco ducked his head a little, smiling to himself, and stepped into the pub, Harry following him with a smile on his own face.

**{#}**

The walk up to the large wood and iron doors had been peaceful, as it seemed that the albino peacocks that had inhabited the Manor grounds had all gone. The gardens were well kept if not nearly as elaborate as they had been years ago, and the Manor itself looked a little faded at the edges, as though something had been taken from it long ago.

Harry raised a fist and knocked on the door, tucking his chin down into his scarf to keep himself warm. There was a long minute where nothing happened and then the door creaked and groaned, pulled open from the inside.

Narcissa Malfoy stood in the doorway, her expression surprised but not shocked. Age had been kind to her, and though Harry could pick out the fine lines at the corners of her eyes, she looked no different than she had when he had first seen her at the Quidditch World Cup. She looked him up and down and then smiled, looking pleased.

“You look well, Mr Potter,” she said kindly and Harry gave her a small smile.

“You too, Mrs Malfoy. Is Draco in? He invited me over,” he said and she nodded, gesturing for him to come in. Harry unwound his scarf as he came into the entrance hall, eyes roving over the details around him. He remembered being half-walked, half-dragged across this hall, his face swollen and stinging, his vision obscured, his scar burning. He felt a chill go down his spine but tried to suppress it. What had harmed him them couldn’t harm him now.

“Draco’s in the library, Mr Potter, if you want to follow me,” she said, glancing over her shoulder as she turned down a narrow passageway. Harry followed and she led him down a dark corridor to a door set in against the wood panelling, knocking on it once, pausing to listen for a reply. There was no answer that Harry could hear, but Mrs Malfoy opened the door anyway, poking her head in. “Draco, Mr Potter is here,” she said and then she stepped back and gestured for Harry to enter, before walking away.

He stepped through the small doorway and nearly fell to his knees. The library was double-storied, a small balcony running the length of the room, bookcases above and below it, and each row crammed with books. One section had chains running down it, and another section was kept behind a glass door, but the rest of the books were organised and freely available.

Hermione would have had a field day.

Draco was sat in an armchair in front of a flickering fire, a large tome balanced in his lap, and he looked up as Harry entered. The firelight caught his eyes, turning them into liquid gold in its glow, and maybe that was why Harry's knees went weak, not just because of the books.

“You found it alright, then?” Draco said, closing the book and standing, putting the book down where he’d been sitting a moment before.

“Yes. I had to Apparate outside the wards though,” he said and Draco shrugged.

“Unfortunately it’s a precaution. Especially… well, straight after the battle, my Mother was worried that someone would try and hurt us. She put up the wards just in case and hasn’t taken them down since,” he said and Harry felt a pang of sympathy. Draco hung back a little and gestured to the other armchair that was opposite the one he had been sitting in. “Take a seat. Would you like some tea?” he asked, and Harry nodded, shucking his coat and scarf and draping them across the back of the armchair, slumping down into the warm cushions. Draco pulled a chord next to the fireplace and there was a _ pop _ as a House Elf appeared.

“Tea for two please, Effie,” Draco said kindly and the Elf bowed and disappeared. He smiled at Harry as he sat back down in the armchair. “We used to have a good staff of Elfs, but it’s just Mother and Effie now,”

“Dobby,” Harry said quietly, surprised at the painful lump that suddenly welled in his throat. Draco nodded, looking downcast.

“Yes. He was always kind to me, Dobby. He used to sneak me toffees before dinner,” Draco said, smiling a little at the memory. He looked up to meet Harry’s gaze. "There was something I wanted to show you actually,” he said, standing up again and darting over to one of the book shelves. He rummaged around a little bit and then hurried back over to the armchairs, a book in his hands. Effie reappeared and Draco nearly tripped over here, collapsing into the chair instead, book held high. Harry laughed at the look on his face, and how he was sprawled over the armchair, and Draco gave him a mock affronted look before righting himself and holding out the book, which Harry took.

“_The Pure-Blood Directory _?” Harry said with a frown, running his fingers over the cover, his fingertips catching on the name of the author ‘_Cantakerus Nott_'. He knew the book, of course. It identified those families known as the ‘_Sacred Twenty-Eight_’, the Pureblood families with no muggle heritage. Draco nodded, and reached over to open the book somewhere in the middle.

“Look,” he said, tapping the page, and Harry looked down to read it. It was a family tree, and with a glance at the header it was the Lestrange family tree. Next to each name was a small scribble in pencil - PB, HB or MB. He glanced at Draco, confused. “I went through every family tree in this book and put next to each member whether they were Pureblood, Half-Blood or Muggleborn. And look,” he said, tapping about a quarter of the way up the page, where Rudolphus Lestrange’s great-great-grandmother was written. “She was a half-blood. And here,” he flipped along a few pages, to the Nott family, and tapped a name two rows about Theodore Nott “Nott’s maternal Grandfather was a Muggleborn. Every single one of these families has a Muggleborn in the last generation or so. Even the Malfoys,” again, he reached forward and flicked back a page. He tapped where his Paternal Great-Aunt was written. “See? Lavinia Malfoy née Swire. Yes, she’s not a direct ancestor, but-,”

Harry dropped the book from his lap, leaned as far forward as he could, and kissed Draco.

The angle was awkward. Their noses clashed and Harry’s glasses were pushed painfully into his face, but he didn’t care. Draco’s lips were warm and soft against his own and he made a surprised sort of noise at the back of his throat but he didn’t pull away. Harry reached out and cupped the back of Draco’s neck in his hand, tilted his head slightly to adjust the angle, and pressed closer.

With a small whine, Draco pulled away. His eyes were almost feverishly bright, and he looked a little confused, but pleased.

“Uhm?” he asked, sounding as un-Malfoy-like as Harry had ever heard, and Harry laughed, drawing back a little bit.

“I’m sorry, but to hear you talk about your research…” he said, leaning forward to pick the book up from where it had fallen on the floor. “When did you put all these notes in?” he asked, turning the pages carefully, each one neatly annotated.

“The summer before Seventh year,” Draco admitted, his eyes still bright and his cheeks flushed. He settled back in his chair, his hands folded neatly in his lap. “I had become… disillusioned by then. I wanted to prove them wrong. And I did,” he said proudly and Harry grinned at him.

“You certainly did. Now,” Harry closed the book and set it neatly down next to the tray of tea things. “Kiss me again,” and Draco was still laughing when Harry brought their lips together once more.

**{#}**

The final week before the Fellowship announcement was very _ Brideshead Revisited_, Harry would reflect later. Every day he returned to Malfoy Manor after spending the morning with Hermione at Grimmauld Place, and Draco would greet him enthusiastically and kiss him, before handing him books relevant to his research, and they would spend the rest of the afternoon sat in comfortable silence reading, trading the occasional kiss when passing books over for the other to read interesting passages. If Mrs Malfoy thought anything strange was going on, she never mentioned it, but she started to smile broadly whenever Harry appeared on her doorstep, and Harry came to enjoy seeing her eyes wrinkle in the corners as she smiled.

The Saturday morning before the Fellowship announcement, Harry invited Draco round to Grimmauld Place, which he accepted with some hesitation. In the library, they could be just Harry and Draco and Harry understood the reluctance of losing that - but it was important to him that his friends (mainly Ron) could see passed their childhood rivalry.

“So," Ron said, eyeing Draco shrewdly over his mug of tea. Draco shifted uncomfortably in one of the squishy armchairs in the living room of Grimmauld Place. “What are your intentions towards Harry?” he asked, and Harry choked on his tea while Hermione slapped Ron’s arm.

“Ron!” she scolded and Ron burst out laughing.

“You should have seen your face!” he howled, waving at Draco, who looked dumbstruck. Ron doubled over and nearly spilled his tea had Hermione not caught it with a clever flick of her wand first. “Oh, that’ll keep me amused for days,” Ron wheezed, straightening up, and Harry shot Draco a reassuring look. It was as close to a blessing as they were likely to ever get.

At three-thirty, they gathered their gowns and headed outside to Disapparate to the Bodleian Library. They crossed Radcliffe Square into the Quadrangle, where some of the short-listed applicants lingered, families and friends gathered as well. Hermione had Ron’s hand in a tight hold as she led them through to the College, and they managed to squeeze into the filled hall, the air alive with nervous energy.

They took their seat towards the middle of the hall and Hermione’s legs bounced as she couldn’t sit still. Harry himself felt a bit sick, and he reached for Draco’s hand, who took it and held on tight.

“What do you think?” Draco asked, leaning close and speaking quietly. “Do you think we got it?” he asked and Harry gave him a smile.

“I hope so. But I think I have everything I need right now,” he said and Draco leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. He opened his mouth to speak, but the Hall fell silent as one of the Fellows stepped up on to the dias, a piece of paper clutched in his hands.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Thank you all for coming. Following a rigorous examination, and a round of enlightening Vivas, I would like to congratulate all of our short-listed candidates on having made it this far,” and he led the assembled hall in a round of applause. He then unfurled the piece of paper clutched in his hand. Harry glanced at Hermione, who was staring straight ahead, her gaze focused like a laser, her knuckles bleached white from her grip on Ron’s hand. He then glanced at Draco, who held Harry’s own hand in a firm hold but looked calm, serene even. Yes, Harry did have everything he needed, right here. The Fellow cleared his throat, and Harry leaned forward.

“I have the honour this evening of announcing that we have awarded this years All Souls Fellowship to-,”

**{THE END} **

**Author's Note:**

> Title is based on the poem 'Oxford' by C.S. Lewis
> 
> _It is well that there are palaces of peace_  
And discipline and dreaming and desire,  
Lest we forget our heritage and cease  
The Spirit’s work—to hunger and aspire.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and viewing! Please support the author and artist by clicking on the kudos button and leaving a comment below! ♥


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